


Disassociation

by CumbersomeWit



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Brief Mention of Blood, Episode 49B spoilers, Gen, i didn't want to write about what happens afterwards, what happens before the voice message
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CumbersomeWit/pseuds/CumbersomeWit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos learns a lesson he has always known, and meets a man he has only ever heard on the radio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disassociation

**Author's Note:**

> A small fic I didn't want to extend because I'm not sure I want to know what happens afterwards. I'll just say that one of my fix-it reunion fics is the eventual resolution to this scenario. Yes.

The door disappears before the slam can produce any noise. Carlos stares at the space it had occupied. It is filled with sand, and rocks, and light; so much light, but it’s not warm or cold here. It isn’t anything, really.

Carlos feels as if he’s falling.

He covers his face with his sleeve, takes long, deep breaths that hitch from his open mouth. His legs begin to shake. He can hear the sand grinding beneath his red Converse shoes, but he can’t feel the ground slipping away from him. He knows that you can’t really touch anything, that the atoms between objects will keep a permanent, impenetrable barrier, but it’s as if the fact is amplified here. Carlos is so separate from his surroundings that he can’t feel anything but himself, and even then, the brush of his sleeve on his skin is muted, ghostly.

He doesn’t belong in Night Vale, but he most certainly does not belong here.

Wind blows. Carlos can’t feel or hear it, but he can see it in the landscape, how the sand shifts and the ferns bow away from him. The wind does not stop. It gets stronger; soon the sand is whirling in tiny individual spirals, gliding away. The hairs on Carlos’s neck prickle.

He turns around.

There is a shadow. No. A person. The blinding light turns their figure into a silhouette, but Carlos can make out details. The relative form; not tall or short, fat or thin. The bloodstained clothing. It nearly … _nearly_ looks like Cecil, and Carlos’s heart begins to seize, but. Those eyes.

Carlos swallows. A cold sweat moistens his palms. Is Kevin staring at him? He can’t tell. The wind is whipping at Kevin’s clothes, turning his shadow into a shifting, morphing thing. Behind him, the landscape is still.

Carlos takes out his phone.


End file.
